


The Thing with Feathers

by Ariah81



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Diggle and Felicity bromance, F/M, Gen, Hiatus of Doom Fic, Reunion Fic, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariah81/pseuds/Ariah81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She stops wearing black exactly forty two days after Merlyn’s visit to the Foundry.<br/>The car crash happens two days later. Felicity and Ray Palmer find themselves in peril, with no one coming to their aid. Unless someone dead is not that dead. Set post 3.09, in the same universe as Fragments. A reunion fic. Sort of. Warning: a character gets tortured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Tenebris

**Author's Note:**

> No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> This story takes place in the same world as Fragments: Post Mortem, just 44 days later. A lot of things happened in between, things that may later be told.
> 
> But for now... It's February, 2015. And it's cold - which is an important fact.

She stops wearing black exactly forty two days after Merlyn’s visit to the Foundry. 

The car crash happens two days later. It’s February and the water is covered by a thin icy veneer.

This fact will become important later.

 

***

Ray Palmer is a chaotic talker. 

He jumps from one topic to another, not bothering if his conversational companion keeps up. Most of the time, Felicity does keep up - it requires just a tiny bit of her attention to filter the data from Ray’s bubbling. Today, she doesn’t.

The roads are icy, but the driver (Mr Higgins, early fifties, balding) is skilled and the car almost never skids. The smooth ride combined with comfortable seats lulls Felicity. She doesn’t want to admit that it has been

_ blood _

her fear of having nightmares that deprived her of sleep for the better part of the past month. She’s fully aware of the bags under her eyes.

‘Good to see some color on you’

Her head jerks up and there he is, smiling. She sort of envies him: it’s been more than a year for him and his grief is either well masked or absent. She needs to know it’s possible

_ for him to be alive _

to get past the stupor. But she’s not yet fully ready to actually

_ admit he’s dead _

move on. In any configuration.

Still, she’s wearing bright sweater today and her hair is down. Baby steps.

‘You were talking about the dampeners?’ she steers the conversation towards a neutral zone, hoping it’s the correct topic. From a confused look in his eyes she gathers it’s not.

He’s about to say something when the car is hit.

 

***

 

_ Question: If a car travels at a speed of 38 miles per hour and is hit at an angle of 90 degrees by a car travelling at a speed of 60 miles per hour - how many seconds does a Felicity have to live? _

Little miss Smoak sits in a school desk, dressed prim and proper, her mousy brown hair in two neat ponytails and wonders why does Ms Thatcher use her name in this Math exercise.

_ The answer is: Too little. _

  
***

 

At first there is no sound.

  _ the sound of metal being bent and torn _

_ the rattle of glass being shattered _

_ her own voice _

No distinctive sound, all a blur. Her vision comes back in flashes of light.

_ screaming _

_ screaming still _

_ a thud to the head, a heap of legs and arms, his body flung against hers and then hers against his, pain sharp as a bullet through her lung _

She comes to with a gasp and a whimper - the pain in her lung is not an illusion. The senses return terribly fast and flood her body with odd sensations. Because everything feels wrong. She feels wrong. Heavier.

‘Good, she’s awake’

She does not recognize the voice. She does not recognize the face. The man looking at her is cracked, as if his face was seen in a smashed mirror. Felicity blinks a few times to realize it’s her glasses that are cracked, not the world.

But the world is slightly moving, in pendulum like motion, from right to left to right again.

‘Evening, princess’ says the man, whose face hangs in front of Felicity’s eyes. She looks past him, above his shoulder (he must be really short, if she can see so much even though she should be blocking her view) and sees Ray.

There is blood trickling from his hairline, covering right side of his face. His upper lip is smashed, and she can see a large bruise forming along the jaw. He’s on his knees, hands probably tied behind his back, flanked by two men in black turtlenecks and leather jackets. And guns.

There are guns.

Felicity’s mind goes blank for a moment.

Something about the way her body feels is still odd. Then the man closest to her pushes her lightly and she swings.

She swings.

Oh God.

Palmer tries to get up, and one of the thugs casually kicks him in the back. He falls face down on the concrete, but the other guy picks him up and forces him to sit down.

Felicity’s arms are stretched above her head

_ the pain in the lung _

and tied to a rather large hook. There’s darkness below her shoeless feet, as her body swings back. A human pendulum hanged above a hole in the floor of a harbour warehouse.

Panic grasps her heart, because suddenly she’s certain that nobody will come to help her. Not Roy, who’s patrolling the other side of the city tonight. Not Laurel, who’s recuperating from her beatdown two night prior. Not Diggle, who’s backing Roy. There’s noone left.

Something is pulling her body down, weighting it. She looks down to see chains, tied around both of her ankles.

   _ heavy _

_ the breathing is heavy _

She is heavy. The logical part of her mind knows. Knows before the man closest to her turns around, faces Palmer and begins to speak. You simply do not hoist a tied girl on a crane in the docks over a basin of water to let her go the moment she wakes up.

‘Simple question, Mr Palmer’ the man (ashen hair, plain face, she couldn’t describe him to the police if she wanted to) takes two steps towards Ray. The tone of his voice is extremely polite. He could be a salesperson at the other end of your regular phone call.

‘My employer would like to know the password to the O.M.A.C. files’

Perhaps Ray takes too long to answer. Perhaps waiting for his decision was never the plan. The man with the polite voice nods to someone behind Felicity - and then she is falling and falling fast, until the harbour water swallows her whole.

 

***

Vegas is hot.

Actually, it’s an understatement. Summers in Vegas can be suffocating. The air clings to your lungs like a syrup and clothes cling to your body like a second skin. The apartment complex where the Smoakes live has a shared pool and Felicity spends Summer Saturdays submerged.

The water is cold and pleasant, it takes both the heat and the weight away, leaves Felicity floating just above the bottom tiles and way below the surface, observing the patterns painted by sunlight. Her own shadow looks like a shapeless medusa.

 

***

The water is liquid ice.

It’s February and this fact is important.

Felicity has little time to take in air when she goes under. The temperature and shock forces her to breathe out and suddenly there’s nothing left. Only darkness and cold. And the chains weighing her down while the crane’s hook holds her up, stretched in the void.

The pain in the lungs becomes too much --

\-- and suddenly she’s coughing, gasping frantically, pulled up by the crane. The cold is worse now: wet clothes steal the body heat and the air stings with the force of million tiny needles. Each breath is torture. She cannot stop shivering, causing the chains to rattle.

But at least she’s breathing.

She can hear Ray shouting her name.

‘All Right, Mr Palmer. This was a demonstration. A short one, because the water is slightly above the freezing point. We wouldn’t like your girl to turn all blue, now would we?’

Felicity forces herself to open her eyes (she didn’t realize she closed them) and she swears there’s frost on her eyelashes. There’s also fear in Ray’s eyes. He will give up the password and then they’re both dead. That’s how it works.

‘The password, Mr Palmer. Now.’

‘N-n-n-o’, she stutters, teeth knocking against each other. ‘D-d-d-on’t!’

And this is when they dunk her again.

 

***

She’s almost ready this time, but still the impact knocks the air out off her lungs. At least now the water seems almost warm. Felicity finds herself astonished by the fact that she dreads the moment they pull her out. Because it will be cold again.

   _ his warm arms around her after the landmine exploded _

_ his hand against her cheek _

_ his lips on hers _

_ his breath _

Again, the freezing air envelopes her body, stings her cheeks, cuts her lips and forces itself into her lungs. She spits and trembles, too sore to lift her head. They did not pull her out completely, her feet are still in the water. When she looks up, she realizes her head is on the floor level.

Palmer lies on his side, breathing almost as heavy as she is. He must have tried to get up again. Stupid. Dying here is stupid. Almost as stupid as dying on a mountain in the middle of nowhere.

‘Ready to share, Mr Palmer?’

Grey male shoes enter Felicity’s line of sight, circling the hole. She feels a tug and her body is slowly lifted higher. This time she feels every tendon in her arms and she cannot help but whimper. The crane is stopped abruptly, sending painful shake through aching muscles. The owner of the grey shoes cups her chin and lifts her head up.

She realizes this is the man responsible for operating the crane she’s been hoisted on. In a moment of irrational insanity she tries to bite him - it’s feral and illogical, but she knows there’s nothing to lose.

‘Cука’

There’s both contempt and amusement in this word which she recognizes as Russian, but does not understand. The Russian in grey shoes waves his uninjured hand before her eyes. His other hand clasps the remote control for the crane - Felicity wonders if one can still call something a remote if it’s connected with the machine via a cable. The thought amuses her and she smiles.

She can go down smiling, why not.

Then the Russian with grey shoes and the remote is dead, an arrow through the eye.

An arrow with black fletching.

 

***

Ray Palmer hates being powerless. And this is how he feels now: inept, unable to help and protect. Forced to watch a woman he cares about (more than he’s willing to admit) hurt repeatedly. As if the time did a number on him and turned back, to the night of the siege.

When Felicity is dunked for the first time, all he can see

_ the crack _

is Anna, her body going limp, her neck twisted at an impossible angle. But the name he screams is Felicity’s.

He calculates how things would go down if he had the suit ready: first, the man operating the crane - so that she would be safe. Then the two guarding him, then the other two at the door. The talking one would be the last to die, spilling the name of his employer first.

But the suit is not ready and he remains powerless, and Felicity is half-dead already. If he does give them the password… Will they at least kill her quickly?

Because Ray knows they will kill them both. That’s how it works. But drowning… Drowning is a terrible way to go.

 

(It’s not until later that night that he realizes the man asked for a  password . Not for the files, but the password. The files must have been stolen earlier and once Felicity’s algorithm proved too difficult to crack, extreme measures were taken. Palmer laughs then out loud, startling the nurse, because the gangsters almost drowned  the only person able to actually crack the files open.)

 

But in the present, just when Ray is about to shout the password out, the Russians start dying.

 

***

The black fletching throws Felicity off. Why would Malcolm Merlyn come to her rescue? The idea is so alien, it almost makes her laugh. The pair flanking Ray is the next to die, almost simultaneously. They fall and Felicity lets out a small cry, because now she sees the archer.

He appears next to Palmer and cuts his bonds, then draws his bow (compound, she reckons, but does not recognize the particular shape) and releases another arrow.

Dressed in black, dressed like Merlyn. But Felicity knows. She had watched him train countless hours. She had seen him use the bow. She knows how he moves. Lethal. Swift. Graceful.

The man who did all the talking collapses, a black shaft protruding from his chest.

‘Help her!’ the archer orders Ray. No voice modulator. And Felicity’s heart skips a beat.

She wants to shout his name - like a magic spell. But she’s afraid this will destroy the dream she’s in right now.

_ Perhaps she’s really drowning and it’s how her mind copes _

_ Perhaps she’s already dead _

_ Perhaps they both are _

Ray reaches her and tries to pull her from the hook, but all she can do right now is try to watch the archer, watch him --

\-- she twists in Ray’s arms, thwarting his efforts to steady and free her, because the archer just disappeared. And she can hear gunshots.

‘Are you...’ Ray finally manages to pull her down. Her arms are grateful, she cannot stop trembling, but she pushes him away. The chains on the ankles still hold her down, so she tries to untangle them. Her fingers are almost frozen and won’t work, specially when her hands are still tied.

Gunshots again, then a scream. Ray stops asking and helps her untie the hands. Together they work on the ankle chains, finally pushing them away. Felicity jumps to her feet, surprised how quickly she recovered, but Palmer grabs her, turns her towards him and holds her tight.

She knows he needs this more than she does.

A figure looms in the darkness, black hood down.

‘I’m ok, Ray.’

He doesn’t let go, so she pushes away. The dark figure is gone.

‘I need to...’ she starts, but bits her lip. ‘Call the police, Ray. I have to go.’

Before he opens the valve on the influx of questions, she’s already limping towards the exit, propelled by hope. She wonders if Ray will follow, but she doesn’t care. She’s running now, the pain is irrelevant. The cold is irrelevant. All that matters is if

_ he’s alive _

he’s waiting.

She finds herself outside the warehouse, facing row after row of containers. And there he is, lingering in the shadow. For a moment she cannot catch her breath.

‘Oliver… Oliver!’ she limps towards him.

_ in her dreams, he always runs to meet her _

He’s standing still. No mask, no hood hiding his face. His eyes are still the same shade of blue. But she feels something is off. Something is… wrong.

‘Oliver?’

Police sirens in the background startle her. Before she can take another step, he’s gone.

 

ELSEWHERE

 

* * *

 

Thea waits for her brother to return home - or the place they now call home, because they cannot go back. Father is not happy. For a casual observer Malcolm Merlyn could look absolutely fine and behave like a gentleman, but she knows he’s furious.

Her brother took off, again. And he was not supposed to leave home.

Not yet, maybe not ever.

There are people out there who almost killed him and would like to finish the job. Her father risked his life to get her brother back. And now this stupid…

Her brother walks in, dressed in black, a bow in his hand. Her father’s bow. She feels shivers crippling down her spine.

‘He wants to see you,’ she warns.

Her brother sighs, puts the bow down and takes the black jacket off, uncovering his regular grey t-shirt.

‘Why did you leave?’ Malcolm steps down the stairs leading to the observatory. There is ice in his voice and Thea pulls her knees closer to her chest.

Her brother steps between her and her father.

‘Someone needed my help’ he answers calmly.

‘You are not yet ready,’ her father does not raise his voice. He rarely does. ‘This strange obsession of yours… This woman...’

‘She got taken. By the Russians. There was no other choice.’

Malcolm takes another step down.

‘Should I expect news on a flock of dead Russians?’

_ which part of ‘being discreet’ did you not understand, brother? _

‘Anytime now.’

Her brother can be cocky if he wants to. He can also take her father in single combat or at least keep up well enough, a feat beyond her abilities. But he is also recuperating from a grave injury, an injury that almost claimed his life. Sometimes she thinks her father let her brother win to heal his spirit as well as his body.

Malcolm steps closer to her brother and looks him in the eyes.

Thea half-expects violence. Her father is prone to violence. Somehow in his mind it coexists with love.

‘Just don’t do that again, Tommy.’


	2. Testimonium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity finds herself in a hospital bed after the events with the Russians and elsewhere a father takes his son for a midnight walkabout. Also: people talk. A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies at the start: this is not an action-packed chapter. Not that the previous one was. But this one has people talking. And talking.  
> Some things need to be said, before other things are done, right?
> 
> Especially when recovering from a rather rough night in the docks.
> 
> Another apology: English is not my first language and I’m rather prone to silly mistakes. I try to fight those, but it’s a lost battle from the start. My gratitude for your patience with my language blunders.
> 
> Also: thank you for kind words and attention. I’m glad you liked the beginning of the story, let’s see how it goes, shall we?

“We need to keep you for observation,” say the doctors.

  
“We need to ask you a few questions,” says the police.

  
So it all ends with Felicity in a hospital bed and a young detective named Adam Moore sitting on an uncomfortable chair, wiggling. Captain Lance arrives as well, asks the youngster to take five and takes his place. Felicity is grateful.

  
“What did they say?” Lance gestures in the general direction of the doctors, currently absent. There is a policeman posted at Felicity’s door and she has been assured the same security measures had been taken with Palmer.

  
“Lungs are clear,” she manages a smile. “Very mild hypothermia. Like mild-mild. Nothing too serious. Oh, and a cracked rib. That’s all, I guess.”

  
There are bandages on her wrists, because the bonds cut flesh. She folds hands on her stomach and sighs.

  
“And a concussion.”

  
Lance grimaces.

  
“Any idea what those guys wanted?”

  
“Not really. They were mainly talking with Palmer.”

  
Lance nods. For a moment he stays quiet, but there is a question he needs to ask and Felicity knows what it is.

  
“An archer, huh?”

  
Now it’s her time to nod.

  
“But not our mutual friend?”

  
It’s getting difficult for Felicity to look at him and she’s glad she is not hooked up to any machine monitoring her heart rate. That would be an utter disaster.

  
“Listen,” Lance puts his large hand on both of hers, covering them completely. “You don’t want to talk about it, fine. But I know something bad happened to him. And my daughter. He would have moved heaven and earth to help you, and you were almost killed tonight. He’s gone, isn’t he? He’s gone just like Sara.”

  
  _he would have moved heaven and earth_

  
Felicity exhales shakily, and suddenly she’s coughing.

  
“I’m sorry, captain,” she manages to say between the fits. “I’m so sorry.”

  
_for Sara, for not telling you, for treating you like a helpless child_

  
“It’s ok,” he pats her hands. “You’re fine. That’s important.”

  
Felicity fights the sudden urge to hug captain Lance and hold onto him for at least five minutes. It has little to do with the fact that she’s still somewhat cold.

  
“But that archer of yours…” Lance continues, “He’s a killer.”

***

Not much can stop John Diggle when he wants to enter a hospital room. First obstacle - the head nurse - is neutralized by the infamous Johnny smile, as Lyla likes to call it. The second stumbling block proves a tiny bit more difficult: a young male officer, last name Morrison.

  
“Security detail?” the words sound almost like a curse. “Well, sir, all due respect, but you did a shitty job tonight.”

  
_don’t I know it, boy_

  
“Let him in!” Felicity must have been awake (or they have just woken her up) because she’s now shouting from behind the door. And young officer Morrison has not yet met the full wrath of Felicity Smoak. “Let him in, he’s family!”

  
Morrison’s eyebrows go all the way up.

  
“Or I’ll get out of bed, hurt myself and it’s on you!”

  
“She can do that,” Diggle offers with a tiny smile.

  
The officer lets him in and closes the door.

  
“I brought your tablet. And spare glasses,” Diggle hands her the items. Felicity is beaming at the sight of her handy computer.

  
“You’re a lifesaver, Dig!”

  
This makes him sour. “Not tonight.”

  
“Dig…” she puts the glasses on. “You’ve probably saved dozens of lives today. If not more. Plus Roy. I mean you and Roy saved dozens of lives, but also you’ve probably saved Roy’s life tonight dozens of times-”

  
He hugs her. She gives the hug back. It’s not a very tight embrace, because he probably knows about her rib. Then she sneezes into his collar.

  
“Roy’s still at work,” Dig explains when they part. “He had some more things to clean up, but I expect no trouble there.”

  
“Good.”

  
“I didn’t tell Laurel yet.”

  
“Good, again.”

  
They smile at each other.

  
“But I bet detective Lance will tell her tomorrow.”

  
Felicity nods. “Well, she won’t have anybody to beat up this time,” she lies down on the bed. “They’re all dead.”

  
It’s not all that funny, but Diggle chuckles anyway. “Is it connected with Palmer’s extracurricular activities?”

  
“Most probably.”

  
“Is it over?”

  
“They talked about an ‘employer’.”

  
Diggle massages the base of his nose. “Not over, then.”

  
“Not by a longshot.”

  
They’re both silent for a moment.

  
“You can’t protect as all, you know that, right?” Felicity turns to face Dig. “It was not your fault.”

  
He kisses her cheek. “I can’t lose you as well,” he says in monotone. She feels tears beginning to pool and bites her lips. Thankfully, she sneezes again and the moment is broken.

  
“And that includes common cold, girl!”

  
She laughs, jokingly pushing him away. When she stops, she’s almost certain of her decision.

  
“Dig. It was him.”

  
She sees his eyes grow wider, but he says nothing. So she continues. She lifts herself up from the pillow, sits straight. The movement causes slight pain, and she winces. Still, it’s ok. It’s nothing.

  
“Yes, I have a slight concussion. And a very mild hypothermia. And I almost drowned, which means my brain was probably a bit oxygen deprived…”

  
“Felicity…”

  
“...but I know it was him, Dig. I mean it was him, but not entirely him. He saved me. And Palmer, but mostly me, I think. I saw him, Dig. I called him. He… He didn’t seem to know me. That and the fact that he’s killing people left and right.”

  
She looks him straight in the eyes. He does not flinch.

  
“You don’t believe me.” She finally closes her eyes. “I know that when Roy got injected with Vertigo last week he’s been hallucinating him. But I did not hallucinate. A hallucination does not shot arrows. I saw him as clear as I now see you… Only I don’t see you right now, because I have my eyes closed. But if I open them now I will probably cry and I have had enough of that, thank you very much!”

  
She can feel his warm hand on her shoulder, reassuring.

  
“I want to believe you,” he says softly. “I really do.”

  
She smiles this sad smile of hers, the one that used to be reserved for Oliver Queen and his twisted ideas on heroism and martyrdom.

  
“Still, we have a new archer in town,” Dig continues. “And we’ll find out who he is and why he’s here. Will that do for now?”

  
“For now, Dig.”

***

Tommy watches his father out of a corner of his eye, uncertain what to expect. Or, as the old cliche teaches, waiting for the unexpected. It’s like that when they’re sparing, only they’re not in the gym right now. They’re not even at home. His father took him out for a walk.

  
A walk in Merlyn family vernacular means running around rooftops and jumping over urban crevices, but who’s complaining? Certainly not Tommy. He takes any chance he can to get out of his confinement. Plus some chances he is not allowed to.

  
Malcolm takes him out for a reason. Not a mission, as they are unarmed (mostly, Tommy chuckles to himself, because a Merlyn is always armed).

_Last time they went for a walk was three weeks ago - when Tommy regained enough of his strength to keep up. Father was watching him carefully that night, showing him the city and checking if more memories returned - but short for brief flashes, nothing substantial came back._   
_Until he saw her._   
_He attributed the loss of balance to fatigue - and at that time his father seemed to agree. But her face returned to him that night, only a bit different. Hair in ponytail, glasses, red on her lips. And a pen._   
_Strange sensation that lingered for a moment after he woke up, as if he held someone in his arms._

“She’s not unattractive,” says his father now, pointing to a hospital window. It’s a clear view, a good position. One could shoot an arrow straight through the girl’s heart from this rooftop. Tommy feels ice in his veins.

  
The girl’s face is lit by her tablet. This sight brings another flash of memories, but they scatter before he can grab them.

  
“Felicity Smoak,” his father says, observing him carefully. “Does this name mean anything to you?”

  
_red_

  
“I can’t say that it does,” he answers and he believes what he says. The name means little, the face on the other hand… The face is eerily familiar, as if something seen in a dream. “But she does… Remind me of someone, probably.”

  
It’s always safer to stay close to the truth when talking to his father. There may be holes in his memory, but Tommy does remember Malcolm to be an apt lie detector.

  
“Your… fixation, for lack of a better word, with this girl...” Malcolm sighs, “Don’t think I was not aware of the fact that you sneaked out several times before. You were careful so I let it be. However, you were not so last night - “ he raises his hand to stop Tommy from talking. “Yes, I’m fully aware of what the situation was. You can be awfully sentimental.”

  
Tommy’s response is one of his token smiles.

  
“Did she see you?” Malcolm asks, and each word is like an arrow hitting a distant target.

  
“No.”

  
There is a moment - a heartbeat - in which the father and son measure each other. Across the street, in a hospital bed, a blonde girl turns off her tablet and points her eyes to the ceiling. Then she sneezes.

  
“Good,” says Malcolm. He places his right hand on Tommy’s shoulder and squeezes gently. It’s a surprisingly fatherly gesture, a gesture Tommy is not much used to. “You see, son… I don’t mind this little obsession of yours. Not much, that is. What I mind is secrets. We cannot afford to have secrets, Tommy. Not from one another.”

  
“We’re a family of assassins, dad,” there’s a faint amusement in Tommy’s voice. “I think transparency is not our forte.”

  
Malcolm smiles.

  
“What I’m saying, is that you can watch over this… Smoak girl. If it pleases you. Just don’t get made. Never get made.”

  
Merlyn’s hand on Tommy’s shoulder squeezes harder.

  
“Don’t believe you can protect her from everything, son.”

***

She wakes up at 3:12 a.m. to see Arsenal, perched at her window. He enters her hospital room wordlessly and hugs her in total silence. It’s an odd experience, one that borders on a dream. After a minute or so, Roy looks her in the eyes and says: “I’m sorry.”

  
So she tells him it’s ok, tells him it’s not his fault, tells him she’s alright and nothing bad really happened. She doesn’t think he believes her.  
She actually hopes he doesn’t believe her, because in his line of work he needs to be able to tell when he’s being blatantly lied to.

It helps you live longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did warn you it's a rather talkative chapter.  
> At least I hope I got them talking in character...  
> (Oh, and there was a scene with Palmer, but it got cut. Or moved to another chapter - I haven't decided yet...)
> 
> Still, I do have the plot planned out. Main points that is. Arrow returns on Jan. 21, and I want to have the story completed by then.


	3. Cognitio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days go by while Felicity and Diggle investigate, Ray Palmer makes a decision and Laurel Lance offers her insight on some matters. Elsewhere a sister is worried about her brother and finally someone may step out of the shadows.

First thing she does when she’s out of the hospital is head to the Foundry and set up a search with face recognition software putting Oliver Queen’s photo as reference. She has the software ping her tablet with results every hour and hates Wi-Fi deprived zones, such as the underground parking of Queen Consolidated

 _Palmer Technologies_.

***

Probably most people at the company expect Felicity to take a few days off after ‘the incident’ - at least Jerry does, because his expression is a hundred percent surprise.

“Good to see you, Ms Smoak,” he jumps up from his chair as she walks out of the elevator. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, bagels?...”

“Latte, skimmed,” she pauses and then sighs. “No decaf, double espresso this time. Thank you, Jerry.”

Tablet close to her chest, she marches into the office. There is a bouquet of roses on her desk, huge and pompous, terribly pink. Palmer. _We need to talk_ , says the card. So he did expect her to come to work. She asks Jerry to move the flowers somewhere else and doesn't let Ray know she’s back at the company.

This actually works for two hours.

***

Interesting thing about the police protection: you don’t necessarily get it if there’s no evidence that your life is still in danger. And there’s little evidence of that, as all the men who could have supplied information are dead. Captain Lance looks almost pained when he asks the same question for the third time:

“Is there anything more you want to tell me, Ms Smoak?”

She’s being released from the hospital (pain meds, little movement, plenty of rest - doctor’s orders) and the police officer who guarded her door is no longer there.

“The way things look like for us,” he continues, “is that the group acted alone. Investigation brought up no leads as to any criminal connections. The one in charge… he had a history of ransom kidnapping. Mostly in Eastern Europe…”

“And then he moved to Starling,” says Felicity, trying to smile. So Palmer didn't tell the police about the mystery employer either. And he trusted she would not tell them as well. It scares her, how well he can predict her actions.

“The thing is, we cannot give you police protection. Not basing on the current state of the investigation…”

“It’s alright, Captain,” Felicity points to the man standing five feet behind her back. “I have Diggle.”

***

Felicity stands in front of her office windows and waves in the general direction of her ARGUS escort. She still feels relatively uncomfortable with the thought of a sniper watching her work, but that doesn't mean she can be rude. She would have brought him hot cocoa if it didn't mean running up the stairs in another building.

“Actually, Bob’s not there,” says Diggle on entering her office.

“I have an ARGUS agent named Bob watching over me?”

Diggle smiles, closing the door behind him. Still, it’s all glass and Jerry only pretends he’s working. Felicity catches the doubt in Dig’s eyes.

“It’s ok…” she starts, but Dig just shakes his head and motions for her to step away from the windows. Then he looks at the flowers and raises an eyebrow.

Felicity just shrugs.

“Any luck?” Diggle clears his throat.

“You’re asking about the Russians, the face recognition software or the files stolen from the company’s hard drives, because you need to be more specific.”

“I can answer the Russians question,” Diggle sits in one of the design armchairs. “The one in charge, Dimitry Romanovskij, the one with the ransom kidnapping history… Well, according to ARGUS, he also did some extra work on the side. A well-paid work. Mostly information extraction.”

Felicity looks down to her wrists, still bruised.

“But there are no leads on his latest customer,” Diggle finishes.

“Facial recognition is running,” Felicity takes a look on her tablet. “No definitive results yet.”

Diggle waits a moment. She thinks she knows what he’s going to say.

“Felicity…” he starts. “You have the data from ARGUS. You had it for the past day…”

“It’s not my priority right now,” she snaps. They both look at each other surprised. Diggle sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“I understand,” he says finally. “I really do. But the facial recog is running and you don’t need to check it every five minutes. If someone is after Palmer’s files… This can become really dangerous, really fast.”

_I need your head in the game_

_But what game are we playing here, Oliver?_

This is the moment Palmer chooses to pay her a visit.

“I know I shouldn't have send in the flowers first, but-”

Bruises still vivid on his face, he walks with a slight limp into her office, noticing Diggle and pausing mid-sentence.

“Ray, this is John Diggle…” Felicity makes the introductions.

“Oliver Queen’s head of security, if I remember correctly,” Palmer shakes John’s hand. They eye each other a little longer than most men exchanging handshakes, which makes Felicity wonder if Ray used his full strength. He probably did, because Diggle smiles knowingly.

“That is correct, Mr Palmer.”

“Whatever happened to him? He seemed to have vanished after the whole ‘I-get-your-company-and-rename-it’ thing…”

Felicity takes a deep breath and starts to answer, but Dig is faster.

“Mr Queen decided to devote his time and the assets he has to philanthropy. The last I heard of him, he was setting up an orphanage in some God-forsaken remote area of an Eastern country… Whose name I cannot pronounce even if I tried.”

“So, you’re applying for a position, then?”

“Oh no, sir. Not at Palmer Technologies.”

Felicity steps in.

“Mr Diggle works for me,” she explains. “After that incident… I needed extra security.”

Ray puts his hand on her arm. He used to do that before, but now, in front of Diggle, Felicity feels oddly uncomfortable.

“I can assure you, Mr Palmer,” Diggle clears his throat, “that my men will not interfere with the inner workings of your company.”

Ray raises an eyebrow on the ‘my men’ fragment.

“Anything to keep her safe,” he says. And again, Felicity feels both charmed and uneasy. “I’ll drop by later. We need to talk about… Important matters.”

“Company matters?” she asks. It’s sort of their code. He nods.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr Diggle,” he says, walking out.

“Likewise,” Diggle makes it sound sincere. Perhaps it is.

There are some things that Diggle knows about Palmer and some Felicity kept to herself. It wouldn't feel right to divulge all of his secrets. So Diggle knows about the files and about the fact that Ray is trying to help the city via the use of technology. He knows that Ray plans to build a super-suit (and made a few quips about it as well), but he doesn't know how advanced is Palmer’s work.

Frankly, Felicity wonders if she knows how advanced it is.

“I’ll look into the stolen files,” she says. “You’re right, Dig. I need to occupy my mind with something… Closer. I mean closer to home. In-house problems. Not that I have problems at home or that my work is my home because it clearly isn't...” She sighs. “Industrial espionage it is, Dig.”

Her tablet gives out a beep indicating that another hour went by and no match was found for Oliver Queen on the streets of Starling.

***

Thea feigns an attack from the right and goes for the left flank, but her brother blocks her easily. Then, in one swift motion, he has her on the mat, pinned by the throat.

“Dead,” he smiles.

“I can still kick you in the kidney…” she rolls her eyes.

“Not with a crushed larynx. Really hinders your fighting skills.”

She blows off some hair strands that cover her face. Tommy takes his hand away and stands by, as she slowly sits straight. Few weeks ago she could have scored a few hits. Now, her brother’s injuries are healed and she can barely keep up with him, which is both delightful and infuriating.

“Again?” he asks, almost playfully.

She remembers seeing him

_dying_

injured, barely breathing, that awful wound in his chest patched up by father. She remembers green ointments and an odd smell. She remembers her brother going into seizures. She blinks.

“I’ll kick your ass,” she jumps up, readies the stance. “You’ll see!”

He gives her this smile of his that says just the opposite.

So she lunges, to wipe it off his face.

And to wipe the image of him half-dead off her mind.

***

It’s getting dark when Palmer comes back to Felicity’s office.

“Company matters?” she looks at him over the rim of her glasses. “I've identified the files that were stolen from our servers. Also, I know when the breach happened: a day before those Russians took us. I kind of think it was an inside job… Funny thing, the password you have is now invalid, because the algorithm I designed to protect the files is set to change the said password every 10 seconds if someone tries to decrypt the files… Frankly, I’m the only person right now who can decrypt them.”

Ray doesn't answer, he just walks straight to her desk and stands there, looking at her.

“Did you hear what I said?” she asks.

“An inside job, yes,” he seems distracted and focused at the same time. She instinctively looks for

_fingers twitching_

a nervous tick.

“Ray, are you ok?”

He snaps out of his stupor.

“Yes,” he pauses. “Felicity… It made me think. What happened that night, made me think. Brought back things.”

She knows where this is going. She thinks she doesn't want to go there, because once some things are said

_I thought I could be me and the Arrow_

nothing will ever be the same.

“Ray…” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“I realized… Felicity, that night made me realize… I cannot lose you. I don’t want to lose you, I…” He won’t let her say anything, he has to finish. It sort of gives her a sense of _déjà vu_ , but not exactly. “You mean too much to me, Felicity.”

She’s thankful for the desk between them.

“Ray,” she stands up but the height difference still forces her to stretch her neck. “Don’t. Please.  I know what you’re trying to say, but… Don’t.”

_Once we talk it will be over_

_Whatever ‘it’ is_

The tablet beeps. Ray’s head jerks in its direction and he blinks.

“I need to say this once, Felicity. I need this to be clear.”

“I like you, Ray,” she interrupts. Maybe she would have let him finish a week ago. He is a very reasonable choice. Her logical side approves. But she has dumped logic down the drain when it comes to her feelings. Logic gets you safe. She never wanted safe, if the other option was

_unsafe_

him.

“I like you, and I appreciate what you’re doing for this city… What you want to do. But I like you… Like you. As a friend. A boss. I think I know what you’re trying to tell me but I must tell you first, that if you say what I think you’ll say it won’t make me change my feelings for you. Which are that of a friend. For a friend. To a friend? It’s not a correct phrase, is it?...”

Her bubbling works, because he smiles. Friendly.

“I like you too, Felicity.”

She nods.

“Just…” she waves her hands in the space between them, “Let’s keep this completely, utterly platonic.”

She knows it’s hardly true on his part, but he agrees.

***

Laurel looks better, the swelling and bruises have reached a point when one can cover it all up with makeup. Felicity finds her in the Foundry, dressed in her training clothes, probably preparing for a round of pull-ups. After a rather heated conversation with Dig, Laurel decided to put her vigilante career on hold - at least until, as Dig put it descriptively, she’s able to keep up with him one-on-one.

She didn't argue then, probably because her jaw was dislocated.

“How are you?” asks the older Lance girl and Felicity answers with a polite smile. She has had her own heated discussion with Laurel once, and some words

_you should have stopped him_

are difficult to forget.

“Better,” she says, sitting by her monitors. “And you?”

“Fine,” Laurel smears chalk on her hands and goes for the Salmon Ladder. Deep down Felicity hopes this is the end of their evening conversation.

She’s tracking the elusive money trail linked to one of the Romanovskij’s accounts when she hears Laurel gasp behind her back. Ah, yes. The second monitor. Oliver’s eyes look past her as the facial recognition software searches through CCTV material.

“I did the same, you know?” Laurel’s voice is compassionate. Felicity wonders if Diggle talked to her about the mystery archer. Maybe Captain Lance told her about the black arrows.

“When the Gambit went down…” Laurel takes a deep breath. “I used to see Ollie in the street. I used to run after him. But it was just my mind, playing tricks.”

Felicity looks back at the monitors “And then he came back,” she whispers.

Laurel hovers over her shoulder for a while. Felicity bits her tongue and stays silent, waiting for a question.

“I know how it feels, Felicity.”

_you should have stopped him_

“Well,” Felicity nods and then manages to smile. “Perhaps Oliver is really bad at dying.”

***

Felicity wonders if Bob from ARGUS watches her dress in pyjama pants and loose sweater and make tea. She waves through the large window, just in case. Sitting on her couch, legs tucked under, tablet on her lap and microwaved chicken curry close by, she realizes that two months ago she would have been in the Foundry at this hour.

Before Oliver went to

_get himself killed_

fight Ra’s, she would spend any minute she could in that basement. Even if there was nothing to do, no criminal to catch. She remembers the excuses she would find, explanations she used to justify - not before the team, but before herself - why it’s absolutely necessary to spend most of the night under a nightclub. System update. Installing new software.

She smiles, thinking of all these tiny moments in the Foundry.

Even when she thought he regretted their kiss, even after he pushed her towards Ray… She still circled back to stay as close as possible.

“Pathetic, Smoak,” she exhales, shaking her head.

And then the tablet beeps with a different sound.

***

Tommy stops close to an oak tree and leans into its trunk, becoming almost invisible to the passing lady with a pug. The pug is winded and hardly keeps up with its owner. It spares Tommy one semi-curious glance before it rushes to catch up.

The windows in her living room are quite large, curtains half-drawn. He can see her, working on her tablet, focused. Her fingers dance touching the screen, sometimes too fast to see. Suddenly he thinks that when Felicity Smoak is focused on something like that, nothing short of an explosion can distract her.

And he’s not sure on the explosion thing.

***

Face recognition software indicates that one Oliver Queen was present near a drugstore two streets south from Felicity’s apartment. About ten minutes ago.

***

Tommy sees Felicity get up from the couch and rush towards the door. She practically runs onto the front porch, nothing but fine pyjamas and a large mauve sweater, hair forming a halo around her head. She seems to be looking for something - for someone.

She almost slips on the last of the four steps that lead to the pavement and continues to look around, scanning the other side of the street.

Tommy follows her line of sight and wonders if she knew there was a man with a sniper’s rifle, watching her. A man who is currently very much unconscious. Something about the man’s attire told Tommy it might have not been an assassination attempt but rather a security detail.

Felicity finally stops in the middle of the pavement, facing the oak tree. Then she turns in the opposite direction.

“I know you’re there!” Her voice is trembling but it still makes Tommy jump a little.

_...Oliver..._

She clutches the tablet close to her chest and tries to make sense of the shadows at the other side of the street. “I can see you!”

_...Oliver…_

“Oliver!”

He doesn't know why - he wouldn't be able to put that in words - but he pulls away from the oak tree and steps into the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: To all my Readers, thank you! You're wonderful, you're great! Thank you for all the comments and kudos, and what not. You make me want to write.
> 
> Second: I'm sorry it took me so long to publish this chapter. Life and work got in the way. I'll try to get in the way of life and write.
> 
> Third: Finally, we've reached a sort of turning-ish point in the story. Cue theme music. Drum roll. Some people are really bad at dying.


	4. Revelatio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two people meet and almost reconnect, but are interrupted. More than once.

“Oliver…”

Felicity’s voice is shaky. It’s one thing to dream about something than to have it happen for real. She wants to pinch herself to check. She also wants to run and put her arms around him. And slap him hard for not coming to her earlier.

There he is, dressed in jeans and a pea coat, hair a bit shorter than she remembers, the same blue eyes. And here she is, silly pyjamas and an old sweater, accompanied with no makeup and slightly messy hair. _Vanity, thy name is Smoak_.

Half-consciously she makes an effort to pat her hair into semi-submission.

“You should get back inside, Ms Smoak. It’s rather cold, “ says Oliver, and Felicity’s world shatters. It’s his voice, but it’s not his way of speaking. It’s not the tone she remembers.

She knows the playful Oliver, it was the first one she met. She knows the serious, stern Oliver hidden under the hood. She knows the real Oliver, the one who talked her down when her Super Virus almost destroyed the city. And this is neither of them.

_he didn’t recognize you then_

_but you still had hope, right?_

“And who’s this Oliver you keep on calling?”

She almost drops her tablet.

***

Felicity is six years old when her father just leaves. He goes out to work on Monday morning, kisses her goodbye and promises a trip to the science fair next month.

“Be good, Felix,” he jokes, placing a finger on the tip of her nose. “Be a good girl and I’ll take you to the fair.”

She is a good girl. She’s a good girl for years. But he never comes back. And she has to take herself to the fair.

And one day, when she’s well past knee socks and frilly skirts, she dyes her hair black and stops being a good girl.

***

She shows him his own picture on her tablet.

They are in her living room - Felicity has to admit that it’s at least a much warmer environment - but this is not the way in which she envisioned having Oliver Queen come over. He looks at the picture and cocks his head a little.

“Oliver Queen,” he reads the label under the photo of his face. “Haven’t seen the guy.”

She feels ice creeping up her veins. How can he look in the mirror everyday and not be able to recognize--

“He’s someone important,” he observes, noticing her sudden stiffness. “To you.”

She manages a smile. “You can say that,” she takes back the tablet and their hands touch for a second.

***

Tommy straightens up at her light touch. It’s so unexpected and sudden, he needs to control himself not to jump. He could scare her and he does not want to do that. She looks frightened enough.

Still, she did invite him in. Granted, he sort of invited himself in. Thea would have a go at his manners.

From the way her eyes linger on the tablet and the photo he judges this Oliver guy must have meant a lot. Or still means. This thought stings and it’s illogical. Why would he suddenly become jealous about a girl he doesn’t really know…?

Before he can come up with a coherent answer, he hears something outside the house. The instinct works out the rest.

When a flash grenade crashes through the window, he’s already grabbing Felicity and throwing them both behind the couch. They hit the floor as the flash goes boom. Felicity screams in his ear, but it’s not panic - it’s surprise. She doesn’t fight him, she lets him guide them both to the kitchen area, behind the counter.

Three men burst into the apartment, glass shattering. Tommy pushes Felicity down, in the corner between the cupboards. She’s still clutching that damned tablet and her eyes are wide behind the glasses. He looks at her for the briefest of moments, before grabbing a knife from the block.

He jumps over the counter, kicking the first man square in the chest and slashing open the right forearm of the second one. The men are dressed in black, cover their faces with balaclavas and carry semi-automatics, no silencers, no kevlar. He judges they were not expecting resistance. A simple grab-and-run job.

_not so simple_

The third man aims his gun, but Tommy is already at his side, grabbing his wrist and twisting it, turning around and slamming his elbow into the man’s nose. He goes down with a gurgling sound.

Tommy’s first opponent is just getting himself off the floor. Tommy gives him little chance to complete the action - a knee to the small of his back makes the man’s body curve back, exposing the neck --

“No!”

Against all common sense, Felicity’s voice makes Tommy freeze, the knife’s edge on the man’s throat.

“No killing!” she demands, standing between the kitchen counters, the tablet still in her right hand. He wonders if she’s aware that the guy with the broken nose is probably close to drowning in his own blood.

Naturally, this is the moment the man with a slashed arm decides to jump from behind the couch and grab Felicity.

***

When all hell breaks lose, Felicity screams once.

It’s all so sudden and happens at the worst time possible - but then again, isn’t it always like that with them? If you meet cute over a laptop riddled with bulletholes and have your first and only date interrupted by a rocket launcher… what else can you expect?

Oliver’s arms around her feel terribly familiar as he cushions their fall behind the couch. She lets him push her behind the kitchen counter, taking in how natural for them both it seems. No words needed. No instructions. He looks her in the eyes before he grabs one of her kitchen knives and jumps into the fight.

She initiates an S.O.S. beacon on her tablet.

_a knife_

_damn, Oliver!_

She gets out of the kitchen just in time to shout her objections against killing.

And to have one of those guys grab her from behind.

***

It could be a Mexican Standoff, but something tells Tommy the man currently bleeding on Felicity’s sweater may not care much about his colleague. Yet before Tommy can review his options, Felicity whams her left elbow into the man’s solar plexus, whirls around and slams him over the head with the tablet.

The tablet breaks.

The man drops to his knees and keels over.

Tommy knocks out the guy before him just as Felicity takes two shaky steps back and sits down on the edge of the couch. There are three men in black on the living room floor, neither one conscious. Felicity looks around, blinks a few times and slides from the couch to the carpet with a sigh.

Without giving it a second thought, Tommy kneels at her side.

“Are you ok?” he asks, hand cupping her face and making her look at him.

She starts to tremble.

***

“Are you ok?” he asks, hand cupping her face.

_he had you_

Suddenly it’s all too much, too fast.

_he was going to hurt you_

She feels her hands starting to shake. No amount of deep breaths is going to stop it. She closes her eyes for a moment but it doesn’t help. Oliver’s hand is warm against her skin, his thumb draws circles her cheek.

She raises her arms and pulls herself closer to him.

She missed this. His scent, his closeness. Her fingers find their way to the back of his neck and she feels his muscles tense. But he doesn’t let go. For a moment they hold on to each other, half-sitting, half-kneeling on the floor, and Felicity’s trembling stops.

“It’s ok,” his words are a warm breath against the skin of her neck. “It’s alright. You’re safe.”

She almost cries out, because it is him and not him. Instead, she tightens her grasp.

This is the moment Diggle runs in, gun at the ready.

***

Another man appears and Tommy turns away from Felicity, but she’s still holding his arm down.

“It’s a friend!” she shouts, perhaps also for the benefit of the other party involved.

The man is Afro-American and definitely military. Yet when he looks at Tommy he freezes and lowers slightly the gun. There’s a genuine surprise on his face, coupled with something akin to… Joy?

“Oliver…?”

_you are not alone_

Tommy’s mind is playing tricks on him, the man’s face becomes blurred and unrecognizable.

_you’ve brought me into this_

So he does the only thing he can think of. He uses one of his father’s magic tricks.

***

Diggle stops moving and forgets to breathe. _Seeing is believing_.

The whole scene is almost surreal: the broken window, the bodies on the floor… And Felicity holding Oliver - or the other way round. Oliver is the least otherworldly element in this picture.

Still, Dig is almost certain his heart skipped a beat. And his face expression must be hillarious.

Felicity shouts something, as Oliver rises from the floor, faster than Diggle deems possible. The atavistic part of his brain, the one that helped him survive Afghanistan, screams ‘danger’. The heart won’t let him lift the gun higher.

“Oliver…?”

There’s darkness in his eyes. And a flash of recognition.

Then he drops something, and suddenly the room is filled with smoke.

***

It’s always like that: she has him - and he’s gone.

    _and the second thing?_

The smoke clears and he’s gone.

Even his heat leaves her skin, too fast. She doesn’t know why, but it hurts even worse this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all, Dear Readers! It's a pleasure to write for you.
> 
> And they've met.  
> But it didn't quite go the way it should have, right? But worry not, it'll all be better. Eventually.  
> I hope.
> 
> You've asked about Thea and how can she be willing to participate in all this. Let's put it this way: next chapter (number 5, soon) will provide a sort of answer. Because nothing's straighforward when Merlyn is involved.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and so it begins.
> 
> 'Hope' is the thing with feathers - wrote Emily Dickinson.  
> That perches in the soul—  
> And sings the tune without the words—  
> And never stops—at all—
> 
>  


End file.
